Run
by CharMcCaff
Summary: My first fan fic : The night Lily & James were killed and how Harry ended up with the Dursleys.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The church of Godric's Hollow struck 8 o'clock. Residents were settling down for what they anticipated to be yet another uneventful evening. It was the night of Halloween and all was quiet in the community. Rain drizzled on the worn cobbles and lightly bounced off windows, almost musically.

Local pensioner and witch, Bathilda Bagshot, was enjoying a well deserved tumbler of fire whisky, when suddenly an eerie silence overcame her home. Bathilda cleared her throat and paced over toward her window sill, twitching her tattered, checked curtains. She gazed out cautiously, just as the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. The horizon had slowly and unexpectedly darkened with jet black clouds engulfing the sky. This was no British weather, she thought. Faster than in normal circumstances, she tore her curtains shut, donned her purple anorak and swiftly made her way towards the great fireplace which stood as the main attraction in the small and cluttered lounge.

With a trembling hand, she scraped a handful of nearby floo powder out of a bronze pot and hovered in the bricked alcove.

"_The Hogs Head!_" Bathilda throatily exclaimed, throwing down the contents in her grasp. With a mighty crack and flurry of green smoke, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

"James? What's wrong?" Lily Potter enquired, balancing her one year old son on her hip. Her glorious red hair danced just passed her shoulders, tickling the infant in her arms. A crease appeared in the middle of her brow as she worried about James' behaviour. Her kind, green eyes, identical to her sons, scanned past him, studying the place his eyes were fixated.

James stood up, his tall, thin frame hovering by the window, clearly on edge. His erratic behaviour alarmed his wife, who now cradled the child to her chest, in a protective stance. A gust of wind violently ripped the front door open, scattering the last of autumns leaves over the hallway. The sudden bang startled the Potters, causing the baby to start crying.

"Shh, Shh Harry," cooed Lily "There's a good boy."

"Merlin's Beard!" James grunted, nervously running his hand through his messy black hair. He pushed the swinging door shut and locked up for the night. The Potters had been having a rough time recently. The constant threat of which the Dark Lord imposed had consumed all of their energy, along with those of the Order.

Lily and James desperately longed for the life they envisioned in their last year of Hogwarts. A carefree existence with their son, Harry, and maybe more children of their own. Life was far from cosy of late in Godric's Hollow. The recent event which saw the Longbottoms tortured endlessly with the _Cruciatus _Curse had shook the entire Order to the core, and had caused James and Lily to go into hiding with their newborn.

"Shall we put Harry to bed?" James suggested, ruffling the untidy tuft of black hair Harry had inherited from his father. He beamed up at James and opened his little arms to be scooped up. James did so, rocking his son from side to side. Lily perched on the worn sofa, mindlessly gazing into the crackling flames in the fireplace. Their tiny living room was animated with lively dusters, tickling the clock on the mantelpiece, and dishes being washed of their own accord, due to James' hatred of muggle chores. Lily, however, didn't mind doing things the hard way, having been muggle born and raised.

"What time is it, love?" James whispered, kissing his wife's cheek.

The church of Godric's Hollow struck eight outside.

"Just gone eight." She replied absentmindedly, still enthralled with the orange blur of flames.

"I think it's someone's bedtime!"

He jostled Harry towards the stairs when something caught his eye. Out in the darkness, he peered through the window to see pitch black, with the odd grey cloud. The dismal weather was not what had James' attention. He quickly glanced over at his oblivious wife and back to the window. A bead of sweat escaped his forehead, the hairs on his arms stood up, as he stared, terrified, at the formation up above. The clouds moved, altered and magically shaped a skull like face. The daunting vagueness in its eyes made James look into his son's eyes, Lily's eyes.

Panic overtook him, and his throat dried. The Dark Mark, he thought.

He spun round, still holding his smiling child, to gaze upon a confused and shocked looking Lily. Her almond eyes were alert and fixed on a shape in the fire.

"Sirius!?" she choked.

James ran to the back of the sofa.

"Padfoot?"

The face of James' longest comrade looked panicked and pained amongst the fiery sparks that formed the features of his face.

"James, Lily, Wormtail has betrayed us, and your location. He's on his way! Run!" Sirius' voice cracked on the last command as the flames engulfed his face, and suddenly shot up the wall ferociously.

"James" Lily silently breathed.

"Take Harry." James thrust his bewildered looking son into his loves arms. He kissed Harrys forehead, and urgently pressed his lips to Lily's pale ones. A tear from her watery green eye escaped onto her cheek, where her husband swiftly wiped it away.

"I love you." He stroked her face and his frantic eyes met hers.

"I love you, too." She quietly sobbed, memorising the face of her husband. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he smiled, defeated.

They both pricked their ears as they heard the creak of their gate open, and then crash shut behind increasing footsteps.

"He's here," she inaudibly gasped "Voldemort."

James gave one last devastating look at his family, his heart breaking into pieces where he stood.

"Now run!"


	3. Chapter 2

James watched Lily as she tore up the stairs, clutching their only child. A million thoughts whirled around his brain at once. Could he hold the greatest, dark wizard off long enough for his wife to escape? Was the Dark Lord at all merciful? What was he even doing here? James' chest constricted as he hastily withdrew his wand and pointed at the front door. Albeit shaky, he held his position at the foot of the stairs, waiting for his final confrontation.

Time slowed as he considered his impending fate. Lily was only three quarters up of the way up the stairs, as James registered he would never see his son, his pride and joy, again. And Lily, dear sweet Lily, the warmth of her soul and the glimmer in her eye made James certain he did not want to exist in a world she wasn't in.

He came crashing back into reality, regrettably, and closed his eyes. Silence ensued. The only thing barring Voldemort from the Potters was the front door.

"Bombarda!" hissed a serpent like voice.

Splinters of wood tumbled at James, as what was left of the door hung limply on the hinges.

The cloaked figure hovered in the threshold and its slit eyes darted up the stairs, at the figure cradled in Lily's arms.

"The boy," the husky voice whispered "Give him to me."

Lily whimpered, supporting her sons head with her hand.

"No!" James shouted, brandishing his wand, "Expelli…"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green bolt of magic shot out of Voldemort's wand and hit James square in the chest, sending his body writhing and convulsing in agony down the hallway. A brief moment later came a heavy thud, as James' body lay lifeless and broken below his wife.

Lily clawed at the banister, trying to support her trembling form from collapsing. Tears cascaded down her paled, gaunt face as the image of her dead motionless husband lingered in her mind. Her breaths came ragged and hysterical as she witnessed a blur of black swoop over to James' shell, almost smugly. The once lively and animated eyes of her beloved partner glazed over and stared aimlessly into her own.

She ripped her gaze away, and glared at the monster below. Voldemort's snake eyes burned into Lily's, paralysing her. His billowing cloak floated eerily up the stairs. Lily frantically darted into Harry's room at the back, tearing the door from against the wall and mightily slammed it. She looked down at Harry's anxious expression and his chubby hand reached up and touched her cheek. Immediately, she buried his innocent face into her chest, mere inches away from her pounding heart. Lily leant down and kissed the part of James she had left in her embrace.

She grasped at her empty pocket, realising her wand was on her nightstand. Leaving Harry was out of the question, she thought. The only tool at her disposal in aid of defending herself would be her words. She would beg until the moment her heart stopped beating.

This time, the door was not demolished upon Voldemort's entry. He had forcefully booted it open, so that it ricocheted off the wall loudly. Lily covered Harry's delicate ears and pleaded.

"Please…"

"Hand over your child or die." The icy reply came.

"He's only one!" she cried, tightening her hold "Take me!"

"You, mudblood, are worthless."

Voldemort directed his hand toward Harry, as Lily shakily placed him in his cot, and shielded him from the murderous glare.

"Don't kill my son" she sobbed, arms outstretched, not revealing an inch of her child to him.

"Move" Voldemort demanded, raising his wand.

"No!" Lily shrieked, desperate to conserve Harry's life.

The malicious demeanour of Voldemort's face sent a bone chilling wave over Lily's body. In a matter of seconds, he revealed his sharp teeth in a manic laugh and blasted her with the unforgivable curse.

Harry peered through the spaces in his cot, as he watched his mother fall amongst a flash of green, her red locks created a curtain from Harry's befuddled gaze. Voldemort stepped over Lily's rigid frame, and rounded on her son. The whimpers from Harry as he reached for his mother only spurred the Dark Lord on. Harry gazed up at Voldemort with his glimmering green eyes that had once been his mothers and followed Voldemort's wand, now targeting his forehead.

"Avada Kedavra!"


	4. Chapter 3

The emerald green spark flew out of Voldemort's wand and illuminated the tiny bedroom. Harry watched, mesmerised, as the curse ricocheted off his forehead and engulfed the room in a swirling blur, full of every colour in the spectrum.

An agonising shriek erupted out of the Dark Lord, as though his very soul had shattered into pieces. His piercing tones were overcome by the phenomenal power of his own curse that had betrayed him. The swarm of light entwined itself around Voldemort's figure, penetrating into his body at vital organs; stomach, brain, heart. He collapsed into a writhing heap, shuddering violently as his own dark magic viciously attacked him, his body morphing grotesquely until he was unrecognisable. His billowing cloak cascaded to the floor revealing his skeletal form, his bones protruding from underneath his thin layer of purple, mottled skin. His spine curved as he keeled over, drawing in pained breaths which were now visible as his emaciated ribcage rose up and down. Finally, the Dark Lord, the most infamous wizard of all time, fell to the floor, shaking the very foundations of the house. With one last quake, the walls of the Potter's residence fell along with He Who Must Not Be Named.

Harry sobbed in his rubble filled cot, the fiend that had taken away the pinnacles of his life lay crippled on the cold floor before him. He persistently reached and grabbed for his mothers attention but her eyes were glazed and wide, facing Harry's tearstained cheeks. His forehead was gushing with deep red blood where the unsuccessful curse had left its imprint, a lightning bolt shaped cut. Little did the boy know that that scar would become as famous as him.

Voldemort's body shifted, as he incoherently moaned. The infamous Dark Lord was now a withered and fragile shell at the immense power of his own killing curse. He knelt, defeated and exhausted, under Harry's gaze and, summoning the last of his energy, apparated into a black flurry.

The residence of Godrics Hollow watched in awe, petrified of what their eyes had just beheld. Some fled their houses and bundled their families into cars, whereas some fainted at the mere sight of it. Chaos ensued in the normally quiet village, as muggles screamed, ran, and phoned the police. All of them, however, took little regard for the sooty, wailing orphan in its battered cot.

The sky howled and the jet black clouds that had formed the Dark Mark earlier completely vanished. It looked almost painful to perceive, for the mouth of the mark became detached from the eyes that seemed to scream aloud in desperation. Death eaters from all around stared, horrified, at the mutating face in the blackness above. As the mark bellowed its last shriek of pain, all of Voldemort's followers hit the ground, clutching their forearms that burned with the intensity of the Dark Lords demise.

Somewhere in the distance, the roar of a motorcycle was heard.


	5. Chapter 4

The night was black, and the street deserted. The bleak silence diffused through Godrics Hollow, all apart from the purr of James Potter's best friend's motorbike, Sirius Black. Straddling the stalling bike, Sirius eyes flew open in horror as they took in the shambles of a house that was once Harry's home. A burning sensation tore up his throat and tears spilled from his grey eyes. Grief took hold of him and refused to let go. Sirius lithely leapt off his bike and staggered toward the decimated cottage, arms outstretched as if ready to grab hold of his friends, who by some miracle, had survived. Kicking the gate that hung lamely on its hinges, he continued, squinting his eyes and coughing as the dust particles attacked his lungs. Quiet, desperate sobs escaped his white lips, for deep down he knew that his best friend, his high school comrade, had been murdered.

Realisation suddenly smacked him right in the gut. The Dark Lord hadn't happened upon the Potter's by chance. Not at all. Someone in the order must have betrayed their hide away. But who? The cruciatus curse used as leverage, perhaps? A Veritaserum potion forced down their necks? Rage bubbled in Sirius' stomach as he considered these possible reasons for his best friend and his wife to have been killed. He knew all too well who it was, but denial wouldn't allow him to speak of it. A mighty depression fell upon Sirius as he slumped his shoulders in defeat. Suddenly, his mind had registered that one, very important, reason for why Voldemort would have descended upon Godrics Hollow. His Godson.

"Harry?" Sirius mumbled, the ache in his throat constricting the volume.

He cleared his throat allowing his raspy voice to call;

"Harry?!"

Quiet ensued as Sirius tossed about the rubble, searching.

"HARRY?"

He scrambled through the rocks and wood, scraping his rough hands in the process, frantically tossing rubble aside in the vain hope of finding Harry. A loud crack distracted Sirius' efforts, as a heavy wooden beam broke above him. Splinters of wood showered down on him, as the beam threatened to collapse completely. Sirius flung himself into the depths of the destruction, as the liquid fell from his blotched eyes. His ears pricked, as he peered toward the noise coming from under the broken beam. Under all the dust and chalky residue, Harry clawed at his battered cot, crying at the pain in his forehead. Sirius clocked the deep red blood that had crusted on his godsons face and ran to embrace him. He tripped many times at the obstacles in his way, but successfully reached Harry and lifted him into his dirty arms. Tears fell on the baby's filthy clothes, and Sirius kissed the top of his head. Relief swarmed through Sirius, but was instantly sidetracked. Underneath him lay a broken and lifeless Lily. His heart momentarily stilled as the dirty air rattled through his body, at the sight of his mangled friend. She was dead. And so was James. He fiercely cradled Harry's head and his knees buckled under the pressure of his grief. Rough, low growls came out in the forms of sobs as he considered his loss. Overhead, the beam gave another sharp crack and snapped in two, as they simultaneously cascaded down upon Sirius and Harry. Faster than the blink of an eye, Sirius rolled, all the while protecting Harry's fragile frame, and whipped out his wand from the inside of his jacket.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

At his roar, the two pieces levitated half a foot above them for a short second, and were quickly sent flying across the debris. He quickly scooped Harry up into an awkward cradle, and hobbled back to his motorbike, with tear stained cheeks. Sirius straddled his vehicle, and tucked Harry best as he could into the inside of his mucky jacket. He gave one last look at the remainder of his best friends' house – a pile of rock, and kick started the bike to life. Unable to care if anyone was watching, he angled his bike upwards, letting it soar into the black sky.

He flew, invisible, in the night, through London, clutching the bump zipped up under him. Amazingly, Harry was asleep. As he flew, Sirius contemplated Harry's future, along with his own. He would grow up an orphan, but Sirius planned on keeping him– it would have been what James and Lily wanted. Realizing he was fast approaching The Hogs Head, he pushed his bike at a downward angle and darted to the ground, the engine only slightly protesting. He stumbled inside, as his audience all inaudibly gasped.

"No…" Sirius could hear murmurs from all around him. Most of the Order was there, with the exception of a few; Peter Pettigrew being one of the few. Madame Rosmerta had closed up The Three Broomsticks and awaited the arrival of news along with the rest inside The Hogs Head. She bustled to Sirius' side and sobbed uncontrollably at the state of Harry's head. Without asking permission, she reached into the inside of his coat and jostled the baby out, dabbing at his head with a handkerchief.

"Sirius," Dumbledore somberly greeted, "Come, sit."

He collapsed in a heap on a stool, and Tom slid over a Fire Whiskey. Sirius gruffly thanked him with a motion of his head, and took a sip, clearing out the chalky feeling in his mouth.

"James, and Lily, they're…They didn't make it. He killed them."

The Order all fell into chairs, some cried, and some just put their head in their hands. Remus stood, and embraced Sirius in a manly embrace.

"What now?" Remus asked, looking at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore bowed his head, and looked back over his half moon spectacles.

"Harry will live with his mother's sister, Petunia Dursley."

"No!" Sirius roared, "I can take him, I can raise him!"

"Calm yourself, Sirius, The Dursleys are fine people. Minerva has been observing them all day. But you can't take him."

"Why can't I?" Sirius fumed.

"The minister has declared you as wanted. They believe, since you are of Black blood, that you plotted with Voldemort and killed Peter Pettigrew. I am so sorry, my friend." Dumbledore clasped a bony hand over Sirius' shoulder, as he slumped back into a chair.

The room shuddered at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. They all knew Peter Pettigrew was alive and following He Who Must Not Be Named, a great betrayal on his part, that could never be forgiven.

"Azkaban?" Sirius whispered.

"Azkaban." Dumbledore confirmed.

Mad Eye Moody stepped into the circle and gripped Sirius' other shoulder.

"We could hide him." He suggested in vain, seeing as no one was in the right mind set for a plan, he thought he'd start.

"The ministry won't stop until Sirius is behind bars. A wronged man!" Mundugus chimed in, earning a disgruntled look from Alistair Moody.

No more suggestions came, allowing Sirius to drown deeper in his depression. This was it for him; his fate. He was thankful Harry had his aunt and uncle to go to. Sirius had nowhere.

"Sirius, friend, go into hiding. Take a broom – your motorcycle's too conspicuous. It's worth a shot." Remus finally said, with Moody nodding in agreement.

"Good Luck, Sirius."

"Goodbye."

Hands clasped his back, and the women in the Order pecked him on the cheek. His life was in tatters. He took the first broomstick he could lay his hand on, kissed his sleeping Godson on the cheek, and left. In the darkest corner of the pub, Bathilda Bagshot was hunched over her drink, a morbid look plastered on her gaunt face.

"Dumbledore.." Hagrid grunted, "What are we ter do about 'Arry?"

"We visit the Dursleys. Tonight. I already have a letter explaining everything."

"We're ter jus' leave 'im there? Isn't 'e in danger?" Hagrid worried.

"Let him be a baby for now. He shall know, one day, of his gift. But for now, the child needs normalcy." Dumbledore explained, misty eyed.

"A 'right then, give 'im 'ere." Madame Rosmerta wrapped him in a fresh blanket and put him in a wicker basket, and handed him over to the giant. Tears flowed down her face for the poor, parentless boy.

"I shall apparate there, Hagrid. Take Sirius' motorcycle. You'll need it." Dumbledore instructed.

Everyone in The Hogs Head turned and stood up, praying for Harry and Hagrid that they would arrive safely. Hagrid carefully carried the basket outside, placing it gingerly in the sidecar and pulling the belt over it. The bike lowered at Hagrids weight but nonetheless roared to life, and again, into the deepest black of the sky.


End file.
